Reading these poems opened some hidden door in my psyche through which the winds of Tartarus now blow. Mitchell’s translation feels inspired, and the result is something haunting, disturbing, and extraordinarily beautiful.

At once a coming of age memoir, a travelogue through worlds now vanished, and a history of middle Europe to the cusp of the second world war, this trilogy defies definition, and Leigh Fermor’s erudite, utterly charming style makes you believe you travelled with him.

DeLillo’s writing is so exquisitely good it makes me happy, and here he is at the top of his game. I savored all 827 pages of this novel, and I will read it again if only for the pleasure of Marvin Lundy’s company.